


Blood, Water, and the Questionably Fortunate Curse of the Lost Prince

by TooGoodForMySorryLittleLife



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Beta Read, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, also i wanna tag as a comedy but i dont think im funny enough so, but i sincerely doubt it, i need a beta plz hmu, i think im doing it right, just so you know there are transformations and i like making them... graphic, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooGoodForMySorryLittleLife/pseuds/TooGoodForMySorryLittleLife
Summary: Almost 10 years ago the heir to the throne went missing without a trace. His people had forgotten him and the new king made sure they did or else. When a young thief finds himself in danger he takes a leap of very little faith, expecting to meet his end only to find the beginning.OR:the alternate universe where i said what if one was a mermaid and no one clapped
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. The Part Where They Meet

No one discusses the disappearance of the crown prince and heir to the throne nine years ago. At least, never aloud were the royal guard to hear, anyone who does might as well write their will. But as history can show, censorship hardly ever works, especially when everyone noticed the loss of the prince. Citizens spoke of it over dinner and in faint whispers at the well for their daily supply of water. Some believed he abandoned his position and eloped with some peasant girl to the countryside, a story widely favored by the more fanciful and young girls wishing to be swept off their feet by a prince. There was no basis in reality for this story; nothing to point out his distaste with his position or his inherent heterosexuality. Another theory was that he was disowned and carted off to an asylum because he was never seen in public and wordy servants of the castle described the young man as a recluse. The most widely accepted theory, however, was far more sinister than other theories proposed. The theory that was by far the most popular was that the crown prince and heir to the throne was murdered by his jealous, younger half-brother. Only a year younger than the missing prince, Gabriel was a handsome young man with a certain- je ne sais quoi. No matter how off-putting his too-toothy-smile was or how incriminating his manner of speaking about his older brother was Gabriel, now the king of a forgotten island nation, had a way of amassing followers out of seemingly thin air. Of course, the disappearance of the older prince was no longer fresh in the memory of the people, but it was never forgotten. In fact, I think now is a perfect time to unearth the past and hold it to the light for the citizens of Heaven to admire.

It begins with a young thief, by the name of Crowley, running through the crowded city streets of Heaven’s capital. Through the street market and past merchants, dodging women with laundry and children kicking around a ball. At moments precisely like this, Crowley wished that he wasn’t a thief. Perhaps he would have been a good painter if he had had the money to go to school. Still, there was no point in thinking about what-ifs; this was his life and right now he has an angry merchant’s son chasing after him. Maybe once he is safe and sound with his meal, he’ll laugh about this because he has most definitely snogged the man’s sister. Right now his main focus was navigating his lanky body between people and over animals, and right now there was a lot to avoid and this kid was relentless. Around the corner was a dead end and a pigsty, it was hard to not think ‘here goes nothing.’ Over the fence and unlatching the gate, Crowley bolted through the mud and pig feces. When he was out of the sty and on his way to safety, Crowley heard the cries of the young man chasing him and another man, presumably, the owner of the pigs that were now loose onto the streets. No one blinked an eye at a scrawny young man covered in mud and shit, and Crowley was on his way into the forest for the night without a hitch.

Locals would tell you the forest was full of bandits, criminals, and pagans, and to that Crowley would say the pagans aren’t too bad, actually, they are very nice people. He can’t say much about criminals. That was the category he fell into and it was pretty hit or miss. Some were absolutely crazy and would hunt you down and kill you in your sleep, but that was only once. The rest of them could be pretty rude, but they had the capacity for kindness. A memory Crowley remembers vividly was when he was around sixteen, an older woman with blood on her hands found Crowley nearly frozen to death and gave him a blanket. She had said, “Nothing can make up for the atrocity I have just committed but maybe this will help.” As for the bandits, they were nothing but people of malice and greed. Much more like they would hunt you down, steal all your belongings, torture you, and if they were feeling merciful leave you stark naked in the forest with nothing. However, most of the time, they would just off you. 

Crowley used to be in with a group of bandits when he was younger. That obviously didn’t last long. Crowley had been appreciative of a group to call his own, a family. He realizes now that family doesn’t try to guilt you into killing the innocent and unprivileged. Where Crowley wanted to be a Robin Hood, his “colleagues” were only motivated by greed and bloodlust. They would kill indiscriminately and Crowley had been stupid enough to fall for the lame excuse of killing for “survival” and “safety.” So, he left and hasn’t looked back since. Except of course, when he hears familiar whispers and the unmistakable rustle of two men in the brush nearby. Of course, they would try to ambush him before he can eat his fresh stolen meal and wash the shit and mud off of himself.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Crowley drawled, taking a seat under a nearby oak upon the cushion of a thick carpet of moss on its roots. Might as well chase away the hunger gnawing at his insides before fighting or running. Plus, better he expires on a stomach full of stolen bread than let the bread get into the hands of Hastur and Ligur.

The two men stalked out of the bushes, hands on the hilts of the daggers hanging from their waists. Hastur and Ligur looked grungy from a life out in the woods and still held the evidence of their hiding spot in their hair, leaves, and dirt sticking to them like the two men had been born with the debris attached to them. Crowley had gotten a lot of slack from their gang about his attention to hygiene, but hey you can’t get hair this good looking by ignoring it.

“Hello, Crowley,” Ligur growled, “Fancy seeing you here.” He smiled, but his smile held nothing more than mal intent. Hastur followed suit, his lips tightening together and his eyelids chasing each other over his ink-black eyes. Even smiling for these two conveyed a violent act.

“Oh yes, quite lovely. If I didn’t know better, I am sure this would have been a serendipitous coincidence, but that’s not it, is it?” Crowley scrunched his nose at them and smirked, “It never is. So I suppose Beelzebub has finally come to their senses and came crawling back to me?” Crowley gave an airy chuckle, these bumbling idiots never frightened him and he never had a mother to tell him not to play with his food (Just a metaphor! Crowley has had some ups and downs in his life, but he refused to stoop to cannibalism), so why not get some free entertainment with his meal?

“In your dreams, Crowley,” Hastur sneered, “Actually,” he draws his weapon and points it at Crowley, “we need you to hand over all you have. Right now.”

That was enough to give Crowley something to laugh about, “Oh really? I guess you’ve got another thief nearby who isn’t a bumbling idiot waiting in the bushes, ready to strike when the fight is too much in my favor.”

As Ligur scowled at the suggestion, Hastur simply replied “Dagon is still hiding. So you can over everything, clothes, money, food, weapons, or we can get her involved.”

Crowley stopped his chuckling. Crowley could handle two of Beelzebub’s henchmen, but two henchmen and Dagon? If even one of Dagon’s arrows grazed his skin, he was a dead man. He remembers vividly watching her concoct the poison that she coated each and every arrows’ point with, but she never made antidote. There was no antidote for Serpent’s Tongue. Only the chills of a fever and the incessant vomiting before you finally succumbed to convulsions, screaming until you couldn’t breathe and died. It was a merciless death. The berries of Serpent’s Tongue, the plant that grew on the edge of a salty cliff overlooking the ocean, were brutal to one’s body. Crowley hadn’t known that until he watched a young boy, no older than 17, suffer. It was after he had left Beelzebub’s gang of bandits, he had hit rock bottom after leaving, starving and cold. He had been taken in by a group of Apollo’s disciples. They had given him food and shelter until he could get back on his feet, or at least until Eric had been shot by one of Dagon’s arrows when he was gathering wildflowers too close to their camp. Crowley could see the irony, but nonetheless it still scarred him to watch the teenager have an agonizing death for what felt like no reason other than existing. 

Crowley wasn’t ready to face that death by Serpent’s Tongue at the age of 26 with no one to comfort him as his blood boiled beneath his skin and his insides slowly turned to mush. So, without taking his eyes off of Hastur and Ligur, Crowley unbuckled the belt that held his saber and sack of copper pieces. If Crowley kept what few gold pieces he had in his right boot and a dagger in his left, well that was his business, and he wasn’t giving his old gang the chance to find out. He held out the belt to his side and listened closely, sniffing the air for the bittersweet scent of the Serpent’s Tongue poison on Dagon’s arrows. Dagon’s bow had a certain sound to it, a woody ring of a string pulled taught ready to be released like a wild horse chomping at his bridle to get back to better pastures. That unmistakable sound came from his left and with that, his belt was flying to his left and hitting Dagon with the clatter and dull thud of a sheathed sword hitting flesh and falling to the dirt. Of course, Hastur and Ligur, being the idiots they are, scrambled after the belt tackling each other and Dagon in the process of chasing after Crowley’s belt like dogs chasing a stick. Crowley was running before they realized what they had done. Crowley didn’t have much time before they reoriented themselves and realized where Crowley had gone. Crowley may be long-legged and fast, but Hastur was definitely leggy-er and much faster than Crowley. He must have been the first back on his feet because just as Crowley thought he was gaining distance he heard the unmistakably heavy footsteps of Hastur running after him. Crowley was usually diligent about knowing where in the forest he was, preferring to reside near the ocean during hot summer days like this, and right now it appeared he was running right toward the cliff by the ocean and if the thundering crash of water on the cliff face was anything to go off of, he was close.

Crowley almost tumbled over the edge if it had not been for the unforgettable tangle of Serpent’s Tongue creeping over the edge. It had a recognizable stench and when he smelt it he knew to stop. It wasn’t even a second before Hastur burst through the brush and stood breathless with his weapon drawn.

“Looks like the end of the line, Crawley,” Hastur growled, a deep rumble in the back of his throat like someone trying to cough up phlegm. Crowley could hear two more people rushing through bushes and shrubbery towards him and Hastur.

And then he heard the arrow as it whizzed past his ear. Sheer terror and panic rippled through Crowley in waves. They didn’t just have the intention of robbing Crowley, they wanted to kill him and they wanted him to suffer. Crowley felt the burn of an arrow grazing his skin, nearly breaking the skin and depositing its poison. It was the third that got Crowley, embedded in his shoulder. He curled forward in pain and took a few steps back from his attackers, scattering pebbles into the raging sea below. Crowley had a decision to make: let them incapacitate him and leave him to rot from the inside out from Serpent’s Tongue, or he could jump in the water and drown first. It took him less than a second to make his decision, he refused to give them a win, so jumping it was. He gritted his teeth together and yanked the arrow out. It was pure agony, but he had to keep appearances.

“Hate to leave a party early, fellas, but I have places to be,” and with a small salute and a cheeky grin, Crowley was over the edge of the cliff, hurdling feet first towards the water.

________________________

It had been ten years since Aziraphale had been cursed. As hard as it was to keep track of the sunrises and the sunsets underneath the water’s surface, he always knew the passage of a year. A favorite holiday of Aziraphale had always been New Year. He loved the small intricacies of each ceremony and tradition and the contagious, electric hope that buzzed through the air. Since he was a young boy, he had always enjoyed one tradition in particular: the lantern boats. He enjoyed painting his own small wooden boat, watching his nurse light the candle, and sending it off on the sea, watching the light bob up and down as the ocean lapped at the small boat. Now, those boats were only a reminder of each passing year. From below the water’s surface, one couldn’t see stars, and the moon quivered in the sky, but the lantern boats always brought the stars a little closer to Aziraphale, even if they weren’t the real thing. Sometimes, when he was feeling brave, Aziraphale would swim just below the boats, out of sight, and study the designs on the boats. Somehow he had never seen a bad one. Even the ones with a child’s painting of pirates and mermaids, all simple shapes and uneasy lines, were masterpieces. There were the boats of adolescents and young adults, each elaborate design well-thought-out and hope to ooze off of them by young people look towards the future. And then there was one boat. He had found it years ago. It was a crude looking boat, obviously whittled from a tree branch with a knife, painted with simple blues, reds, and yellows. The design had had wildflowers growing around the boat, creeping across its sides and underneath. If Aziraphale hadn’t known better, he would have thought them to be real flowers instead of just painted on. That was about 4 years ago.

The ache he felt when missing the surface had dulled over the years. He had despaired so much when blood-soaked hands had tossed him into the sea. He assumed he had cried about it, he wouldn’t know. You know tears underwater… can’t really tell if you are crying except for the lump in your throat and the pain of the tears welling up in your eyes. He had been trapped- that is the best way to describe his situation- for about 6 years when he had found the small lantern boat covered in wildflowers. He had forgotten about wildflowers. When he ached for the land, he had always thought of the food, the books, music, clothing, the finer things in life. He had forgotten about the flowers. How did he forget the flowers? He had clung to the painted wildflowers for two years until the sea finally rotted the wood and rubbed off the pigment. It had been disappointing not being able to spend the nights tracing stems, leaves, and petals(Aziraphale could not sleep in this state). He waited for another boat with wildflowers or just another painting so real it brought him back to surface, even if it was only in his daydreams. The boat never came.

This is the tenth year since his fingers grew webbing, since his legs fused and his bones rearranged themselves with gross cracks and pops, since the scales pushed through his skin. It had been quite a horrific process, transforming. However, in some regards to his appearance, he hadn’t changed; he still kept his blonde curls close to his head and his skin was still a soft creamy white, even with a few deep scars rippling across his chest. His appearance didn’t correspond with how Aziraphale felt completely, but at least he was at least a bit recognizable in his new form. Being this creature was fine at the best of times and pure torture at the worst of them. The worst part was that he could not end his suffering- and he had tried to multiple times. He never starved, his wounds always healed, bones mended themselves back together as if nothing ever happened. Whatever this curse was, it wanted him to stay alive and live with this body that he had been forced into. It seemed spellcasters were not above cruel and unusual punishment.

Aziraphale had been ruminating on the ocean floor by the sea cliffs, the crash of waves drowning out the everpresent whispers of loneliness when it happened. He almost didn’t notice the man hit the water with the small impact. Of course, if his landing didn’t make him noticeable then his floundering after he hit definitely drew Aziraphale’s attention. Aziraphale could sense the metallic taste of blood mixing with the salt first. Much to his later dismay at the thought, Aziraphale immediately thought Bugger all of this, I don’t want to dispose of another. (Don’t ask about the first one it had been a complete nightmare). When he saw the thrashing, he bubbled out a sigh, thank god. Of course, if Aziraphale didn’t act soon the relief would be short-lived. So quickly, he grabbed the man by the waist and bolted away from the sea cliff. Soon enough the man went limp, from shock or death, Aziraphale couldn’t tell you. 

When he reached the shore of a calm cove, Aziraphale dragged himself and the dead weight of this man through the sand. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly a movie-esque rescue, the man was so heavy that Aziraphale paid no mind to the sand scraping his skin and falling into his open mouth. To make matters worse, Aziraphale was distracted spitting out blood, not his but the man he just rescued. “Disgusting,” Aziraphale panted still trying to spit it out.

“What… What the fuck is going on?” a voice croaked followed by coughing, the sound of someone blowing raspberries, and, finally, retching noises and splatter.

Aziraphale is not one for cursing, and he wasn’t going to break his streak now. However, he would admit that he was pissed. Of course, this stupid red-headed bloke decides to wake up after Aziraphale pulls him onto the beach.

“I thought angels would be more clothed and less… soaked looking”

Aziraphale whipped his head around when before he had avoided looking at his rescue. Oh so almost dead and stupid. Absolutely, tickety-boo, was the only thing he could think before looking the man in the eyes, Of course, he was gorgeous, the stupid ones always are. “I am not an angel. You’re not dead,” Aziraphale snapped.

“I’m not?”

“No.”

“Are you suuurr- uhhhhhh what is that?”

A long finger pointed at Aziraphale’s tail. It was not anything worth looking at so Aziraphale avoided looking at his tail. To be honest with himself, the tail was a little distressing, but what could he do? These are the cards he had been dealt with.

“Has no one ever taught you that it’s rude to point, or stare, really comment on another’s appearance like that?” Aziraphale huffed, “Really?”

“‘M sorry, never seen a fish-man before- wait a minute… Dagon shot me with one of these arrows! Of course! This is a hallucination brought on by the poison, well I think I might take a nap until sweet death takes me, good night.”

Aziraphale honestly had no idea how to respond to that. What was he gonna say? “Oh my god, you were shot!?”? Or maybe he could say “I am not a hallucination!”? Or-

“That explains why your blood was so repulsive.”

“WHAT!?”

“Your blood. It was the worst thing I have ever tasted in my life.”

The man slapped his hand to his neck and scrambled away from Aziraphale, “YOU’RE A FISH-MAN AND A VAMPIRE!?”

This man was such a dolt that Aziraphale just wanted to cradle his head in his hands and cry.

“No. I don’t know if that’s even possible. Besides-” Aziraphale grinned, flashing his razor-sharp teeth, “You would know if I bit you.”

“Ah, that makes me feel so much better,” the man’s tone was so sarcastic even Aziraphale could tell.

“Alright, I am choosing to ignore that comment. Anyway, what do you mean you were shot I don’t see any wounds. Actually, how the hell are you even bleeding? Wait- that is a personal question. Excuse me.”

The man just stared at Aziraphale for a moment, his eyebrows warring on his face, deciding whether they should rise in surprise or sink lower in confusion. Then he patted himself, settling his on his shoulder, poking his finger through the hole in his shirt where it was stained with blood.

“How…” the man looked at Aziraphale again, “What are you?”  
“Again, a rude question to ask someone. You said it yourself: ‘fish-man.’ Though I abhor that label. I just identify as Aziraphale.”

“What’s an Aziraphale? Sounds familiar… is it a type of sauce… or a flower?”

Aziraphale was not amused, but then again, it was a good thing this man didn’t recognize him. It would be a disaster if the kingdom found out he- it didn’t matter anymore.

“It’s not a thing, it’s my name and last I checked it’s customary to introduce yourself next. I can’t imagine things have changed so much on land that people don’t have common courtesy anymore.”

Again the man’s eyebrow’s warred on his face before breaking out into a cackle and coughing up more water in the process.

“Crowley’s the name. A pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale,” Crowley grinned and pushed himself to his feet, “Suppose I should get going, maybe I can get about as far as the northern village by sundown. Great chatting with ya.”

Crowley took a few steps and tripped in the sand as his wobbly legs struggled. Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Crowley spun around quickly, his eyes shining golden and pupils slit like a cat’s where they were brown before. Aziraphale’s laughing ended abruptly and he shuffled away from Crowley towards the ocean.

“Oh, so you’re not laughing anymore? What’s wrong, ‘my guardian angel’? Scared of little old me now?”

Aziraphale was silent, just shaking his head, slowly pointing to his face, “Your eyes.”

“What about ‘em? Lost in them already?” Crowley grinned flirtatiously but Aziraphale didn’t react. Fear flashed on his face and Crowley scrambled to a puddle on the beach and glared at his reflection before spinning around on Aziraphale.

“First it’s the arrow wound, now it’s my eyes. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?”


	2. Into the Witch's Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, happy Juneteenth. I am a white ally so I am going to tell you that before you read this chapter, consider going to https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ and signing some petitions. And also if you are not anti-racist you can take a walk because I honestly don't want you here. Also, it's a great day to think critically about race and how it is portrayed in your favorite media (yes I do mean good omens as well).

“Oh please! How do you even know it’s my fault?” the Aziraphale snapped back, “I have done nothing but help you and you’re accusing me of what? Making your eyes look funny? I may look like this, but I have no business with magic other than my curse.”

“ _ You, _ ‘Oh please!’?  _ Me, ‘ _ Oh Please!’! Things were so bloody normal until you walke- no wait-  _ swam _ in!” If Crowley wasn’t panicking at the moment, he would have puffed out his chest in pride at his wit.

“Oh yes because getting shot is such a normal thing to happen- Wait a second! How do you know it was me that changed your eyes and not this poison you were talking about?” The nostrils on Aziraphale’s not-quite-human-but-almost-human face flared.

“I  _ know _ because Serpent’s Tongue doesn’t do this. It burns you away from the inside out and  _ kills _ you! Not this!” Crowley gestures at his face hoping the Aziraphale,  _ the pompous prick, _ isn’t dull enough to not get his point.

“Oh,” Aziraphale was, to Crowley’s limited knowledge, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about? Unless you are also the person who shot me, which I know for a fact you’re not, then are you taking responsibility for my…  _ disfigurement _ ?” Maybe that was too harsh a response to such a soft apology, but god damn it, Crowley was currently in crisis, so Aziraphale would have to suck it up.

“No, I’m saying sorry because you had to accept your own death at such a young age.”

That was confusing. Really confusing. They are in the middle of a disagreement and now this man was apologizing for someone else poisoning him and it actually sounded  _ sincere _ . Crowley was not used to apologies, especially not sincere ones with actual emotions put into it. He decided he did not like it at all.

“Yeah well, I’m used to it. ‘Been prepared to die since birth,” Crowley chuckled to himself but looking to Aziraphale he saw a look of horror. His joke did not land with his audience because of course it didn’t. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s a joke!”

“Well, it’s not funny! I mean look at the world around you! You can feel the warmth of the sun! You can read books, draw, talk to other people, see the stars! You can run and climb trees, pick flowers and there is nothing to stop you but your own cowardice!  _ You  _ don’t have to be alone with nothing but your thoughts!” Aziraphale’s voice quivered a bit as he snapped at Crowley.

Crowley felt a twinge of guilt, but only a spark and nothing more. Still, he felt a little embarrassed telling someone who obviously missed the surface that he wanted to die-  _ wait a minute. _

“You used to live on the surface?”

Aziraphale looked pensive for a moment before responding: “Yes. What did you think? That there’s some underwater civilization that we just don’t know about yet?”

“I mean yeah… where else would you come from?... Then again you could just collect things from the human world and yearn for the surface. Maybe even have a talking crab for a friend.” Aziraphale’s frown deepened at the remark.

“Let’s ponder the logistics of an underwater civilization for a moment. Do you know how hard it is to construct things underwater? Or speaking to each other underwater? I have only heard the whales speak-”

“Wait again! Whales can talk!? Does that mean they have ears?”

“What? Yes they do, but that’s beside the point. My point is that an underwater civilization is out of the question because there is no way for something like that to exist and flourish, at least for fish-human hybrids. The jury is still out on the octopuses and what they have going on…”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment and opened his mouth, then closed it again before shaking his head as if to wake himself up, clearly, “Ah yes, the octopuses- octopi- octopodes? Great information, Aziraphale, but how is this supposed to help our situation?”  
  
“ _Our_ situation?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, “What does this have to do with me?”

  
  


“I’m not sure  _ yet _ , but I am sure this is your fault somehow,” Crowley pointed an accusatory finger towards Aziraphale.

“I’ve done nothing to you and you know it!”

“You did!”

“Please, Crowley, grow up!”

“Not until you admit that you used your weird fish magic on me!”

“I told you I don’t have any ‘fish magic!’”

The lying bastard! He can talk to whales but apparently has no magical ability. Did he really think Crowley would believe that? Nothing this strange has ever happened to Crowley in his short little life, but it all hits the fan after this- fish person drags his body from certain death- wait did he thank him for that? It doesn’t matter because Aziraphale definitely has something to do with his eyes. There was a faint rustle in the bushes that Crowley chose to ignore as he paced with legs that felt like wet noodles, fuming at Aziraphale. Just in through the nose, out through the mouth.

“Oh,” a female voice gasped, “I’m sorry- I heard arguing and I just thought- well- uhhhhhh.”

Crowley swiveled around to look at her, ancient-looking clothes and a tacky sun hat, black to match the dark colors of her dress. Her eyes fell on Aziraphale’s tail, then his face, and Crowley stepped in front of her line of sight instinctively. She let a shocked gasp before falling to her knees like her legs couldn’t support her and her shock anymore.

“Oh my gods, I am so sorry, your maj-”

“Please don’t call me that, dear girl.”

As if things couldn’t get more confusing, this girl perhaps no older than 20 give or take a couple of years shows up out of the greenery and acts like she recognizes a man who says he has been away from society for a long, long time.

“Who are you?” Crowley glared at the girl then glanced towards Aziraphale. Did he know this girl?

  
“We all thought you were dead, Aziraphale,” the girl said, dusting off her skirts and taking a shaky step forward, “I thought she killed you, the king says you are dead, the rumors say you are dead.” Aziraphale looked away, a look of shame and sadness on his face.

“Surprise…?” Aziraphale muttered with accompanying jazz hands that had no jazz to them.

“How did you survive for so long?” the girl asked running past Crowley to crouch beside Aziraphale.

“The curse… it doesn’t let me die.”

“That’s not what was supposed to happen… thank the gods.”

“Hello? Is anyone gonna answer my question?” Crowley waved at the two as they murmured back and forth before the girl stood up, offering her hand to Aziraphale, then to Crowley.

“I am so sorry, where are my manners? Anathema Device, witch, granddaughter of Agnes Nutter, the- errrr woman who cursed you,” the last part was mumbled and Anathema fiddled guiltily with her skirt.

“Suppose the name is fitting then,” Aziraphale responded coldly, ignoring her hand and turning away from her.

“Great to meet you. Crowley. So anyway are you a good witch or should I summon an angry mob?” Crowley shook her hand and glanced around.

Anathema let out a laugh in response. “You’re one to talk. ‘An angry mob.’ Please, have you seen yourself? A torch-wielding mob would be a death sentence for both of us.”

“Okay, you say that, witch girl, but that makes me even more uneasy.”

“I’m a good witch. It’s the carelessly stupid magic wielders that give us such a bad name. By some miracle, the gods haven’t revoked their abilities when they even think about summoning dark spirits.”

“Gods? You pagan?”

“I am. Is that a problem?”

“No, love pagans, me,” Crowley drawled realizing this girl might actually be a much more interesting conversationalist than his first companion, “So if you’re a good witch could you maybe help us out a little?”

Anathema tilted her head in confusion, “I thought it was obvious? I want to fix my grandmother’s mistake. Of course, I’m helping. My plan was to help Aziraphale, but from looks of it you got a minor problem as well, should be able to fix it with some luck.”

“Luck?” he muttered to himself and gulped down the anxiety rising in his throat.

“Is Gabriel the king now?” Aziraphale asked softly, bending his tail to hold it to his chest like someone with legs might do when curling into the fetal position.

“Yes.”

“Is he any good at it?”

“No.”

Crowley realized that Aziraphale really must have been cursed for a long time to have missed the death of the old king and the coronation of the new one. If Crowley could remember right, the king died about- 9 years ago? Aziraphale had been trapped in a body he clearly disliked for almost a decade? No wonder that man had snapped at- A short muffled sob wracked Aziraphale pulling Crowley out of his thoughts. He stood there awkwardly as Anathema went to sit by Aziraphale and offer any comfort she could.

“Some servants I know said your father passed away peacefully. He got so sick after you disappeared. They said he just couldn’t handle the loss,” Anathema murmured, holding one of Aziraphale’s webbed hands in both of hers.

“He had always said that he would never recover from the loss of my mother, but at least he had me around to remind him that she wasn’t all gone.” Another sob pushed its way out.

“How long ago?”

“About 9 years ago now.”

Crowley couldn’t help but squirm at the sight. He felt like a total dick for yelling at the man about one measly curse. He had been with his mother when she died, but Aziraphale wasn’t able to and was finding out from an almost complete stranger that his father died 9 years ago. The gears in Crowley’s brain began to click. Why would the first thing Aziraphale asked be about the state of Heaven’s politics? How would Anathema possibly know who Aziraphale’s father is, or at least his servants? Was it just a coincidence that the old king died around the same time as Aziraphale’s? Crowley picked his brain apart a little deeper, what was is it the king had died from again? The gossiping women at the wells had said the king died of grief after the disappearance-

“The prince?” Crowley murmured to himself than raised his voice to be heard, “Aziraphale?  _ You _ are the lost prince?”

Anathema turned back around to glare at Crowley. Maybe Crowley should have picked some better timing. Aziraphale met Crowley’s shocked expression with a watery smile and an eye roll.

“Crowley, my dear boy, have I mentioned that you are a complete imbecile?”

Crowley wasn’t sure what did it, but there was a slight spark and he felt his heart pump a little more persistently. No one had ever called Crowley an imbecile. Of course, people had called Crowley out on his perceived intelligence but never has anyone called him an imbecile. Who even says imbecile? Posh, fish-people that somehow saved your life. A posh man who was once a prince. A man who apologizes to you because he pitied the thought of you preparing to die at the age of 27. Even looking beyond his current state, Crowley thought Aziraphale was peculiar. Not in a bad way, though Crowley couldn’t figure out if there is a way to call someone weird in a good way.

“Sounds about right. Was wondering when you would pick up on how much of an ‘imbecile’ I am,” Crowley mimicked Aziraphale at “imbecile.”

“Crowley,” Anathema hissed, “do you mind?”

Right, maybe jokes weren’t the best thing at the moment, but could you blame him? The mood was heavier than a bag of bricks. Crowley could feel his cheeks threaten to burn before putting his emotions in check.

“Oh sorry! Just gonna go over here and leave you two,” Crowley jabbed a thumb in the direction of the nearby tidal pools.

It was difficult to look at his eyes right now, so he wasn’t too sure why he decided to sit by the still water of the tidal pools that showed him his reflection almost as good as any mirror. Maybe he could terrorize some unsuspecting sea life or watch the ocean. The tide was due to rise back up soon and Crowley watched the moon rise higher above the horizon. It was a swollen, gold globe painting the waves below as they made their unending assault on the shore. The wind brushed past Crowley’s shoulders and he couldn’t help the shiver. That’s the thing about being soaking wet and in some state of shock. Crowley would probably regret it later, but right now he pushed the fear, the hopelessness, all of the other emotions he couldn’t describe down. He would have buried them in the sand and abandon them on the beach if he could. Though, if sea turtles were anything to go off of, maybe he shouldn’t do that. He was a bit too young to be a parent to any more mental break downs.

He could hear Anathema and Aziraphale murmur together, making out Anathema’s small apologies and the rise of Aziraphale’s voice as he asked questions. Crowley wasn’t sure what about, but he could only assume it was about Aziraphale’s current predicament _. _

“Let’s do it,” Aziraphale huffed, finally loud enough for Crowley to make out what he’s saying.

“Fantastic! Slight problem though. I don’t know how to break the curse,” Anathema’s voice went from a cheery chirp to an embarrassed mumble.

“What!?” Crowley yelped, “But you literally just promised to help him!”

“I think I have a good chance of helping him and you, of course. I just need my supplies and read what exactly Agnes used on you,” she glanced guiltily over at Aziraphale, “ I should be able to help you then. All of her stuff is back at the cottage. Just a short walk through the forest, I’ll be back soon enough.”

“Wait a minute, you can’t seriously think we’re gonna let you run off,” Crowley spoke in a way that he hoped sounded more authoritative than anxious.

“You’ll just slow me down, besides do you think I want to just leave him like this while his tyrant of a brother runs an entire nation into the ground? At this point, it’s not about me not feeling guilty anymore, it’s about doing the right thing. What do you expect to do carry Aziraphale through the forest?”

“I mean- I could-” Crowley stammered.

“It won’t work,” Aziraphale interrupted, “You think I haven’t tried dragging myself back to civilization? The curse keeps me within a certain radius of the kingdom and within a certain distance from water.”

“That can’t be right?” Anathema huffed.

“Do you wanna try? Try dragging me away from the water about 10 more paces.”

Crowley sauntered and wrapped his arms under Aziraphale’s from behind like he was trying to restrain him. Aziraphale was a lot lighter than Crowley had anticipated, but it was still a bit of a struggle. Crowley was walking backward without a problem until it felt like Aziraphale caught on something.

“Wait, you seriously can’t get more than 15 paces from the water,” Crowley huffed with effort, still trying to pull Aziraphale.

“Yes, I am being serious, now could you please stop,” and with that Crowley dropped Aziraphale, “Ow! Couldn’t you have been a bit gentler?”

Crowley decided to ignore the comment, watching in bewilderment as Azirphale leaned up against an invisible wall, his soft body molding to the flat surface like it was glass. Aziraphale was obviously rolling his eyes at Crowley’s reaction and Crowley snapped his jaw shut with a click of his teeth.

“Ok, I believe you. Crowley, go take him back to the water so he doesn’t dry out,” Anathema sighed.

Crowley let out an exasperated sigh, “Yes, of coooourse.”

Crowley decided this time he would take a different approach and picked up Aziraphale bridal style and grunted with the effort before jogging towards the ocean, careful not to jostle Aziraphale too much. Aziraphale’s face was a little too close for comfort at the moment and Crowley did not want to focus on inhuman ice blue eyes, sharp teeth that could kill him with a bite to the jugular, or the gills that sprouted on Aziraphale’s neck. The wind blocked out the feeling of Aziraphale breathing so at least there was that. And with a “Right, there you go,” Aziraphale was set on the wet sand and Crowley grinned down at him with arms akimbo as he felt his bare feet sink into the wet sand.

“Much better, thank you,” Aziraphale smiled sheepishly at Crowley before looking at the ocean again, “Go with Anathema, please. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t trust you, but I like to think you owe me so maybe your conscience will force you to make sure she comes back. I’ll be here waiting.”

Though Crowley wasn’t paying too much attention to the second part. That was a really cute smile, even with the whole razor-sharp teeth thing Aziraphale had going on. He hadn’t really imagined that Aziraphale could sound that genuine, but then again they met a little more than hour ago. God, this has been the longest hour of his life.

“Crowley? Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped, glaring up at Crowley, “Did you even hear what I said?”

“Yeah, yeah, go with Anathema. You trust me. Blah blah blah,” Crowley kept grinning, maybe it was getting weird. Okay, normal smile now. 

“I said I didn’t trus- You know what? Forget it. Get going.”

And with that Aziraphale maneuvered his way back into the ocean to wait and maybe pout just a little.

Crowley turned back around to Anathema: “Okay, let’s go.”

________________________

Crowley had decided that if he ever had children, he would give them one good piece of very specific advice. Do not follow a witch through the forest, soaking wet with bare feet while having an adrenaline crash. The sun had set a little before Crowley had taken his plunge and now it was dark. Typically, Crowley wasn’t afraid of the forest, he lived there after all, but the clothes clingy to his skin and the rocks and roots he felt acutely under his feet made him feel… vulnerable. Somehow more vulnerable than waking up after you know you should be dead on a sandy beach with a prissy merman- that’s the word he wanted- spitting his own blood on him. Oh yeah, Crowley had not forgotten how Aziraphale had pretty much spit on Crowley as he dragged him on shore. That was very gross and he had yet to hear an apology.

Still, Crowley could not remember moving through the forest being this difficult before. He panted keeping up with Anathema’s brisk pace and at some point his legs had become wobbly. It’s funny what stress could do to you. Of course, with that thought Crowley stumbled over a tree branch and fell flat on the ground. Anathema turned around and offered a hand.

“Told you that you would slow me down.”

“Fair enough, but you could have had Aziraphale following you. I am only here because he can’t be here himself,” Crowley growled back and let himself be pulled back up.

“That’s sweet of you to do-”

“I’m not sweet.”

“Okay, sure. Anyway we are almost there.”

Of course, Anathema was right because after a few more steps Crowley could make out the glowing windows of a small cottage in the middle of the woods. The whole thing was covered in ivy and if it hadn’t been for the windows Crowley didn’t know if he would have been able to see the little house. Soon Crowley felt the small cobble path under his feet and followed Anathema to the door.   
  


“Wipe your feet on the mat before coming in,” Anathema ordered.

Looking down Crowley saw her welcome mat. Of course, she had a bleeding welcome mat. He wiped the sand off and crossed the threshold as Anathema hung up her sun hat. The inside of the house was exactly what you would expect from a witch’s cottage in the middle of the woods. Herbs hanging to dry in the kitchen window, a hearth that came alive at Anathema’s whim, crystals and candles scattered on every flat surface, and books on shelves and teetering precariously on stacks that went to Crowley’s chin. Whatever materials Anathema needed, they were not gonna be easy to find in this mess.

“Don’t mind the mess, I never have visitors. I have a basket of wild strawberries in the kitchen if you’re hungry. If you need me I am going to be in the sitting room, please ignore the chanting,” Anathema droned making her way into a cozy room full of even more books.

“The what?” Crowley asked, but Anathema waved him off and went to work writing sigils on the floor in chalk.

Crowley shrugged as he stalked into the kitchen and saw a basket of bright red berries no bigger than the tip of his pinky. He sniffed one before popping it in his mouth. He had strawberries before of course, but these tasted more like strawberries than actual strawberries. It popped in his mouth and washed his tongue in sweetness. It was nice. He ate a few more and then a few more, ignoring the chanting in the other room.

Anathema was a bit weird, but what could you do? Crowley and Aziraphale needed her help, there was no way of denying that. Still, it was awful having to rely on someone. Crowley liked to consider himself a lone wolf. He worked better by himself and because of that he knew that he was meant to be alone, even if he sometimes wished he wasn’t-

“What are you doing here?” a voice said behind him.

Crowley whipped around and saw Anathema, then saw that he was decidedly not in the kitchen and instead in the sitting room. Honestly, Crowley was tired of all the magic that he was dealing with today. He had just wanted to have a stolen dinner, bathe in the river, and sleep. 

“This is most peculiar. I have performed that spell hundreds of times and this has never happened,” Anathema circled Crowley, examining him before bending down to pick up the books at his feet, “The spell brought the books I needed but I can’t figure out why it brought you too.”

Anathema hummed in thought, snapping her fingers to arrange scatter books on a nearby desk into a disorderly stack on the floor next to it. She set down the books on the desk and then procured a key to unlock the bottom drawer, pulling out a thick, leather binder.

“What’s that? A spell book?” Crowley inquired.

“What? No. This is my grandmother’s accounting. Every spell and ritual she performed for payment is kept track of in here. She should have written down Aziraphale’s name in here and what spell she used,” Anathema explained, but as if on cue the book flipped open when it heard Aziraphale’s name and Crowley watched Anathema’s eyes grow wide.

“I’m guessing it’s never done that before.”

“No… and it flipped to the exact page Aziraphale is on…” Anathema breathed.

The book was written in a script that Crowley had no clue how to read, but it appeared Anathema did. Her eyes widened more as she mouthed each word silently before slapping her hand to her mouth.

“Oh my gods…”

“What!? What is it!?” Crowley almost shouted.

“She was hired by King Gabriel so that he could take the throne… and this spell… I didn’t know she even practiced that kind of magic.”

“What kind of magic?” Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“Well, I used the term curse lightly before, I really meant just a spell, but this is a real curse. She wanted this to be reversible,” Anathema smiled up at Crowley, hope twinkling in her eye.

“What do you mean?” Crowley sincerely did not understand.

“Spells are virtually irreversible, you can cast spells to correct them, but they are essentially permanent. Curses, however, are more powerful, but have conditions, ways to reverse them without the use of magic just in case things go awry.”

“Perfect! What do we need to do?” Crowley couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t know. These are all the books I have about mer spells and ocean spells,” Anathema gestured at the books she had set on the desk, “So I guess, I need to be more specific with my search.”

With that, Anathema stood up from the desk and walked back to her circle of sigils. Closing her eyes, she started chanting in a language that Crowley wasn’t even sure he could even identify as a language or it being spoken in a human voice. And again Crowley popped back in front of Anathema. She opened her eyes.

“What the he- Oh no,” and immediately her hands flew to Crowley’s face.

“Hey! Get the hell off me!”

Pulling open his eyelids and examining his eyes, before forcing his mouth open with strength Crowley hadn’t anticipated her possessing, and finally she felt along the sides of Crowley’s neck, feeling for something specific. She gasped and backed away when she found it.

“What hell was that for, witch girl!?” Crowley jumped back and growled, but Anathema just looked at him with sympathy, a frown etched on her face.

“Crowley, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t think that he- you- you love him?” Anathema let a tear drag down her cheek.

“Love who? Aziraphale? Please! I met him today!” Crowley would have burst out in hysterical laughter at the notion if it wasn’t for Anathema looking like she was going to break down.

“He didn’t? He didn’t bite you?” Anathema circled him again, inspecting him for- bites? Scars? Crowley didn’t know.

She bent down to pick up the single book at Crowley’s feet and flipped to a page, looking down at the book and then back up at Crowley. She furrowed her brow more, looking more intensely at her book. She looked back up at Crowley.

“So, Crowley, I need you to sit down before I tell you because you are not going to like it.”

If that wasn’t enough to strike pure dread into Crowley, he didn’t know what would. He just avoided death and now he was probably gonna be handed his second death sentence of the day. He could feel his head spin a little.

“So, you know Aziraphale is human? What Agnes used was a transformation curse that bases itself on existing creatures, in this case she used the merpeople off the coast of the Island of the Beyond,” she glanced down at her feet again, “They are an immortal race that does not reproduce so to boost their numbers they… they take on human partners and… well they bite them. Their venom triggers a transformation and well… that’s what’s happening to you.”

Anathema was right, Crowley did need to sit down for this news because it shortened his trip to her floor. He honestly hadn’t meant to fall out of his chair, but when someone says ‘hey, so life as you know it is being taken away from you and you don’t get a choice! Oh, but not only that, you get to live forever where your only company will be a pompous ex-prince!”

“Crowley! Oh gods! Get a grip!” Anathema shouted rushing to his side.

Crowley’s mouth was dry and speech wasn’t working. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out but a groan.

“Water! You must need water!” Anathema immediately conjured a glass of water and held it to Crowley’s lips while holding his head to drink. He couldn’t help but gulp it all down. Anathema sighed in relief.

Good, now Crowley could speak, so with a meek grin he asked: “So you’re telling me that there are fish people with an underwater civilization?” Anathema dropped his head.

“Yes, but that’s not the point! The point is that you are-”

_ I knew it! _

_ Knew what? _

Crowley bolted upright and scrambled into a corner: “What the fuck!?”

“What? What happened!?” Anathema crouched in front of him, Crowley ignored her.

_ What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fuck! What the- _

_ Thank you for the input, but I would prefer if you used less profanity- _

_ Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! PLEASE GOD, SHUT UP! Oh my god! _

“Crowley! What is happening!? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me!” Anathema grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little. Crowley looked into her eyes, knowing the look of confusion and fear on his face. He couldn’t help, but be vulnerable.

“I can hear someone else… in my head. And- he sounds like Aziraphale.”

_ That’s because it is me, you idiot. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok i want to update every friday, but like i am really feeling this chapter so if i keep up w/ this stamina i might post chpt 3 earlier than that. also asexual mermaids because i want to and because it thickens my plot. but seriously I am treading a weird terroritory with my explanations and I'm feeling some sorta way about it. let me say that there is nothing sexual going on with the biting thing, bc 1.) i am a minor 2.) i don't want there to be??? that's it that's my explanation.
> 
> anyway constructive criticism is much appreciated or kudos, but comments mean the world to me.
> 
> also i push this plot along waaay too quickly but hey that is my right and because i am the author and i hate exposition


	3. The Plot Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for small hiatus w/o notice i didn't want to make a chapter warning y'all bc false hope bites. life do be kinda wild right now and then i was working on this bad boy and i realized "shit i need to go through my outline again bc I'm making fun of a trope that i was planning to employ" so yeah! still it shouldn't make this fic any longer and also i left the "?" bc i want liberty???? anyway don't mind my blathering

“Aaahhh, he did again!” Crowley cried, putting his hands to his ears like that could shut up the voices of his inner monologue turned into a dialogue. Of course, the other voice in his head had to be Aziraphale to make matters worse.  
_I feel like you’re mad at me._ _  
_ “Because I am!” Crowley all but screeched like Aziraphale was in the room with him instead of haunting his thoughts. Breathing! That’s what Crowley needed! Just a breather. In through the nose and out the mouth. Absolutely brilliant. With a calmer, but unarguably not calm mind, Crowley turned his gaze to an Anathema flipping violently through her book, her eyebrows bunching up in confusion at every page she skimmed before snapping the book shut. The crisp collision of pages felt more like a guillotine falling than just the normal exasperated response to a lack of knowledge.

Anathema finally spoke, “So good news I know what’s wrong and maybe how to fix the curse?” Crowley did not like the inflection in her voice. “However, the telepathy thing is completely beyond me. It shouldn’t be an issue though, because I am guessing that once we break the curse things will go back to normal.” And there came Crowley’s sigh of relief, he did not need or particularly want a fussy prince turned merman inserting himself into Crowley’s internal monologue.

“Okay, great. How do we break it?” Crowley’s eagerness hardly let Anathema finish her sentence.  
Anathema’s face went red at the question and turned her face to the floor, “So that’s a valid question… The truth is I do not know, _but_ ,” Anathema spits out the conjunction before Crowley could interrupt, “I have an idea of what it might be.”  
“Fantastic. Spit it out.”

“Let me explain this. It’s clear that Agnes wanted the curse to be reversible. Among witches, there are several ways to reverse things, all somewhat difficult to make sure whoever was cursed can’t wiggle out prematurely. So if Agnes wanted Aziraphale to be free she would have used the easiest form of escape which would be-”

_True love’s kiss._

“Noooo! You have got to be kidding me!” Crowley wailed, maybe a bit too dramatic, but given his life right now it felt warranted, “Where are we living? In some bloody fairytale?!”

Anathema attempted to lay a soothing touch to his forearm, which Crowley quickly tore away from her grasp, “Aziraphale told you didn’t he?”

_Sorry, I enjoyed a bit of light reading before erm… certain events._

“Yes. Yes, he did. Oh god! What are we gonna do? What am _I_ gonna do? No offense to Aziraphale, but I do not want to spend eternity with no one else to talk to but _him_.”

_None taken. You’re not much for company either._

“Aziraphale agrees,” Crowley huffed, “So what now? Am I supposed to search the countryside for every- who does he even like-”

_I prefer men._

“Am I supposed to search the countryside for every bachelor that likes other blokes asking ‘Hey, weird question: do you mind kissing my half-man, half-fish friend over here so neither of us are doomed to an eternity in the ocean together?’” Anathema was visibly unamused and bit her bottom lip nervously. 

“Well, you see… you can’t do that… Mated pairs can’t really wander away too far from each other…”

_Ah, that makes sense. Must be so they don’t lose each other in the open ocean._

Crowley wanted to scream. To who? God? Maybe the void? Definitely at Aziraphale. Perhaps a little at Anathema. “Why!? What kind of stupid rule is that!? God damn it all! Why is this happenin-” Crowley was cut off by a cough racking his body, spreading pain from his chest to shoot through his limbs and burn his throat.  
“Okay, big guy, I think it’s time to get you back to the ocean,” Anathema murmured patting his back and leading him to a chair by the front door, “Let me get you a sleeping mat and some blankets for tonight. Try to get some sleep, it might be your last chance.” Anathema sped off to the ladder to some loft in the cottage.  
_She’s right. You can’t sleep in this form._

“Great…” Crowley sighed, looking down at his hands. He could make out the webbing between his fingers making themselves known, creeping up his fingers like invasive vines on a tree, the spider web of new veins popping through pale skin. His body was revolting in a way he did not enjoy, but some small, reluctant part of him welcomed the change, sweeping away his thoughts like a drug. Still, no matter how you cut the cake, Crowley was miserable.

Anathema returned with rolled-up blankets under her arm and a glass of water in her other hand, “Here drink this, I salted it a little because… well, I’m sure you can guess. You’re going to need the hydration for the walk back.” Crowley reached out a tentative hand for the glass and took a sip, before slurping down the rest of the glass in two large gulps. Yes, he could taste the salt and it was disgusting, but at the same time, it was the most refreshing glass of water Crowley had ever drunk.

“Good, the water seemed to help,” Anathema smiled down at Crowley, “Tomorrow, I think we should attempt finding Aziraphale’s soulmate, that would be easiest. It would be much easier than true love happening the natural way. Unfortunately, it isn’t as simple as the location or summoning spells I used in my library, so it might be a bit difficult, but if we’re lucky we can find roughly the area he lives in and go from there.”

_Oh… that’s fine._

Crowley hadn’t known the man long but by the sound of it, he did not seem fond of the idea of finding his soulmate. Crowley didn’t really understand why, since most people would kill to find their “one true love.” Under his hardened exterior, Crowley was a bit of a romantic, and to be honest he would have appreciated the push from magic to find his soulmate.

“Great, let’s just head back to the beach,” was all Crowley had to grumble in return.  
________________________

The walk back had been significantly easier than the walk to Anathema’s cottage. Anathema had had Crowley carry his blankets as she carried firewood and collected tinder from along their path. Crowley was a tad bewildered by her kindness and her eagerness to help, and under any other condition, he would have been incredibly suspicious of her. If he was honest he still was, but he couldn’t deny the claim that he needed help and it seemed like she was the only person who could that was willing. It’s not like pro-bono witches just wandered around to help cursed princes and the men they accidentally made their mates(the term made Crowley want to rip out his hair, but what could he do? He certainly wasn’t gonna call himself Aziraphale’s lover. Perhaps partner would be more tolerable?).

As the two left the forest and stepped onto the sand, a blonde head popped out of the water and smiled warmly before bobbing toward the shore. Seeing him for the second time wasn’t much different than the first. There was still the brief moment of disbelief, like the hour that Crowley had been away having wiped Aziraphale out of existence, or at least his body. There was a small voice in the back of Crowley’s head that whispered _That’s going to be you soon._ The thought made Crowley want to vomit, or maybe crawl out of his skin, though there was the fear he could never crawl back in. That was the fear, wasn’t it? The knowledge that in a matter of days Crowley had to surrender his body to the ocean. He wasn’t attached to anything on land worth mentioning.  
“Is that wood for a fire?” Aziraphale beamed at Anathema’s nod, “Oh, splendid! I have to say I have missed warmth, especially the feeling of a fire or a cup of tea.” Aziraphale stared into space at his own fantasies, smiling like a fool.

Crowley wasn’t smiling, he felt cold. Maybe there were some things Crowley would miss. Sleep. Warmth. Home. He would miss the thrill of the chase after stealing fresh bread. Miss climbing trees and looking out on the forest. Miss drawing with a stick in the dry dirt. All so simple and overlooked, but beloved.

“-Crowley? Crowley? Are you alright?” Aziraphale snapped him out of his thoughts, his eyebrows furrowing together in concern and his lip taking on a pout.

“Oh, just _perfect_ , angel,” Crowley growled out, not even bothering to hide his sarcasm. Aziraphale cowered a little at the bite to it but regained his confidence almost immediately after.

“What’s the ‘angel’ for?” Aziraphale had a look of angry, confusion on his face. If Crowley wasn’t so pissed off he might find it a little comical with a dash of endearing. But again, rest assured, Crowley is most definitely grumpy.

“Thought it was funny. Opening my eyes, seeing you, and thinking you’re an angel, when so far my involvement in this whole business seems to have made my life a living hell,” Crowley snapped. Aziraphale pulled back again and did not bounce back up. Crowley would admit it may have be a tad cruel, but life was cruel and Crowley had to adapt to that. If this pompous prince couldn’t handle getting his feelings hurt that was far from Crowley’s fault.

Crowley turned his back to Aziraphale at that and found that Anathema had been working to start a fire while the two had bickered. Remembering the things in his hands, Crowley dropped them near to where she snapped the kindling ablaze and set to work making his bed. Crowley was plenty used to sleeping outside but on the beach with no cover was completely foreign. It made him want to run cover at every noise. Crowley didn’t assume he would be lucky enough to have Anathema stick around when she could sleep in her house, which meant-

“Aziraphale, what are your plans for the night?” Anathema queried as she brushed the sand off her skirts and got back to her feet.

“I was hoping to stick around here, enjoy the fire,” Aziraphale looked towards Crowley, “I don’t need sleep so I guess I will keep watch while Crowley sleeps.”

“You really don’t need to do-” Crowley started.

“You and I know that I _do_ ,” Aziraphale snapped, his eyes burning fiercely up at Crowley. What is Aziraphale’s deal?

_Ask me to my face._

Crowley flushed at the intrusion in his thoughts by the man in front of him. Had his thoughts been that loud?

_Yes._

“Stop it,” Crowley glared down at Aziraphale.

Anathema looked between the two of them, knowing that she was most definitely being left out of a silent conversation, “Right, so I’m gonna head back home… Bye.” And with that Anathema started half-running, half-walking back to the forest and away from the worst staring contest she had ever witnessed. There was an incredibly awkward silence after she left both in the physical world and inside Crowley’s head, the only thing filling the voids between Aziraphale and him was the white noise of the ocean battering the sand and cliffs. After several moments, Crowley could hear Aziraphale struggle to drag himself to the fire, murmuring small “oh dear’s” as he did so. It was pretty fucking pitiful if you bothered to ask Crowley about it. And in one deft thought, Crowley said screw it. Aziraphale obviously ignored any thought Crowley had because he was quite surprised when Crowley scooped Aziraphale up bridal style.

“How close to the fire do you want to be?” Crowley grunted at the effort, the tail added more dead weight than he had expected. Crowley walked until he was a few paces from the fire and asked again, “Here?” Aziraphale only nodded, his eyes wide in surprise at Crowley’s surprise kindness. Crowley set him down about as gently as he could while straining with the effort of carrying Aziraphale. Crowley could feel his gratitude coming off the merman in waves.

“Don’t thank me,” Crowley cut off Aziraphale right before he could utter his gratitude, turning his back towards Aziraphale and toward sleeping spot, “Your struggling was downright depressing, didn’t want to listen to it anymore.”

“Fine… then I guess I’ll say I’m sorry instead,” Aziraphale said, his voice even and gently, yet somehow forceful. Crowley turned his head just slightly to grasp a view of the blond in his periphery. “I mean it, Crowley. I am truly sorry that I dragged you into this. I am sorry that you are being punished for just being around me. You don’t deserve it.” At that Crowley, now sitting his blanket wrapped around his shoulders tightly, whipped his head around to make full eye contact with Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s ice-blue eyes glittered with the dew of unshed tears, not the tears of almost full-on crying, but the ones you blink back before anyone can notice you are upset. 

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve, angel. I have done some pretty bad things, I have _seen_ bad things,” Crowley trailed off at the thought but regained his ground, “Ya know, I left religion a very long time ago. My mother would have a conniption if she was around to find out, but I at least held faith in the balance of the universe. Good and bad things happen, ya know? So maybe this is what I deserve… Anyway, I guess I should apologize as well. My life didn’t start becoming a ‘living hell’ as soon as you walked- well swam I guess- through the door. It’s been for a while. So, yeah sorry about errr- saying that you ruined my life I guess…”

“It’s okay. My life has been quite terrible ever since I was cursed. I suppose I sympathize with your feelings about this all,” Aziraphale sighed, “When it happened to me it was all sudden and before I could even process what happened I was thrown off a cliff and into the ocean. I can’t imagine having it be such a slow, painful process-”

“Is it painful? The uh- transformation?” Crowley blurted, “I just want to prepare for the worst.”

“I suppose it is. I think the most vivid memory I have is how much it hurt with my skin and bones,” Aziraphale grimaced, “You can imagine how awful it feels to have your bones rearrange themselves. The skin part is quite bad as well, with the spines and fins and things.” Aziraphale made a vague gesture towards his tail, which Crowley now realized did in fact have what appeared to be venomous spines. Thank someone, that Aziraphale hadn’t accidentally stung him, though like that would have made a difference. A throat cleared, “My eyes are up here.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Crowley felt himself blush after he was caught staring, “Sooo, do you know what species you are? Can you guess I might become?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the question, “Do I look like I know fish species? I know the basics, of course, but nothing beyond that.”

“I don’t know, you knew enough about witchcraft to piece together the thoughts coming from my little peabrain,” Crowley grinned and tapped on his temple for emphasis.

“Your thoughts are more coherent than you give yourself credit for, Crowley. You are the only person I have ever had a telepathic connection with, but I’m guessing that it could be much worse,” Aziraphale complimented(? Insulted? Crowley was not entirely sure.), “I meant it as a compliment,” was the next thing that Aziraphale most definitely blurted out. Aziraphale’s pale cheeks turned red at the outburst and Crowley couldn’t help, but throw back his head and laugh. Clearly, whatever it was, it was out of character for Aziraphale. When he finished laughing, he noticed Aziraphale glancing away from Crowley a little sheepishly and silence sprawled between them. Crowley decidedly did not want to deal with it, so the least he could do was try to make conversation. What to say, what to say, what to-

“Soooo, we are looking for your soulmate tomorrow… that must be… exciting?” Crowley ventured. It was not the great conversation starter because Aziraphale’s small frown deepened before sighing a little sadly.

“I suppose. This isn’t at all how I would want it to go. Finding love, I mean. I could care less if it’s my soulmate or not, but true love? You have to work for it and- I don’t know. Meeting someone for my own personal gain doesn’t feel right? I mean, of course, I want to help you-” Aziraphale would have kept blathering if Crowley hadn’t stopped him before he descended into full-on worrying.

“Look, I get it, I guess,” Crowley didn’t like the way his pitch rose at that, “But if it really is true love, they must be able to put whatever it is aside to make it- ya know work.” Crowley crinkled his nose a little at it all, don’t get him wrong, he is most definitely a romantic, but he has never been in love before.

“While I agree with that idea of what love _should_ be, Crowley, what love actually _is_ is much different. Someone has to actually _like_ you first. I think you are confusing true love and love at first sight, my friend. True love, I think takes work and time. Like a garden, I suppose,” Aziraphale’s voice had rounded out from his usual sharp remarks in thought.

“Mmmmmm,” Crowley could only hum at the thought, taking what Aziraphale said, tossing it back in forth inside his mind before coming up with nothing, “S’pose you’re right about that. True love taking work like a garden… Ya know I have always wanted a garden?”

“Oh?”

“Yup, a decent size yard, growing vegetables, maybe an apple tree- I like apples- definitely maybe some flowers here an’ there…”

“I like apples, though pears are my favorite,” Aziraphale commented.

“I plant a pear tree just for you then,” Crowley grinned at his companion, blissfully ignorant to the implication that the two of them would keep in touch once the curse binding the two was broken. Aziraphale however, being the clever one and all, caught on instantly.

“I- I think I would like that. I would like that a lot,” Aziraphale beamed, and the tiniest piece of Crowley’s mind, just barely a sliver, far from where Aziraphale or even Crowley could hear the thought, said _Hey, this prince is kinda handsome._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so if you were maybe wondering what species aziraphale and Crowley are i would like to share with the class bc I'm excited about it and i had to research different fish that live in British waters since idfk. anyway Aziraphale is a lesser weeverfish and Crowley is supposed to be a black dogfish (which is actually just a shark not a fish but go off). as much cool fish for merpeople are awesome... not cool fish merpeople are infinitesimally cooler. but still........ weeverfish are the most venomous fish in british waters so take that as you will.... I am so glad i know that now *sarcasm*
> 
> CHAPTER 4 is 25% done already and going in a direction I like so hopefully Friday is happening as planned!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly didn't mean to make it multi-chaptered but I have also been brainstorming this for 6 months so what did I expect????  
> anyway don't say hi to me on Tumblr @uralizard  
> oh and if there are typos and criticism please tell me


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